But the child had been watching them too, and was quicker--by one-fifth of a second, perhaps.
It was half-past eight, and the sister turned low the single gas-jet.
She would retire now to her own room, change her dress for the night-watching, and return in about twenty minutes.

The door had no sooner closed upon her than Tilda stretched out a hand.

The sick woman watched, panting feebly, making no sign.

The purse--a cheap thing, stamped with forget-me-nots, and much worn at the edges where the papier-mache showed through its sham leather--contained a penny and a halfpenny; these, and in an inner stamp-pocket a scrap of paper, folded small, and greasy with handling.
Still peering across in the dim light, Tilda undid the broken folds and scrambled up to her knees on the bed.

It cost her a twinge of pain, but only by standing upright on the bed's edge could she reach the gas-bracket to turn the flame higher.